Now that George Bush is back for four more years.
Now that Iraq will continue to be raped and pillaged for oil and guns and anything goes for a piece of media attention
Now that NYC people feel more disenfranchised than ever, when nobody in NYC claims to know anyone who voted for GWB
Now that Michael Moore has to find something else to harp about for the next four years
Now that America seems to feel more safe or smug or beseiged or that terrorists have been banished to the other, outside world, on different time zones outside the border of the homeland
Max thinks that now is the time for Malta to make its claim as the centre of the world, the blog spot in the centre of the Mediterranean sea in the centre of Planet Earth, small, rudderless, non-threatening, ancient, pot-holed, sentient, rotten, dry, flooded, cored.
Max's PC hard disk has died, Jacob is away at a party, Liz is wearing hipsters, the storms have abated for a night, Soma FM is mulling in the background, Arafat is in a coma, Mutu is waiting for a ban for smoking cocaine to enhance his sex life, MPs are debating whether to turn the formal Opera House into the new house for MPs, at the taxpayer's expense.
Max is preparing for the final weekend for Dinner.
Max is not scared any more.